A New Hero: Oracle
by PureMourning
Summary: No longer being Batgirl doesn't mean she's no longer a hero in her own right.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Oracle

Looking up from her computer, Barbara heard a quite familiar _SWOOSH_ sound. She smirked as she turned her wheelchair around. She may not be a crime fighting brawler anymore but she knew he still needed her. She could see right through his extremely stoic personality.

"How may I help you this evening Mister Wayne?" She turned back to her computer, filled with live feed of very hidden cameras planted throughout Gotham. "I'm busy watching the Arkham soap opera." As she leaned in to see Poison Ivy in her cell at Arkham Asylum.

With a tone of curiousity in his voice he began trying to form a sentence. The thing was, this wasn't how Bruce - Batman was. "Alfred..." His posture changed, he went from a puffed out chest stance to his shoulders slumped into defeat. Barbara rolled closer, looking up at him noting his eyes were empty. "He...he's gone missing. I know you're the only one that can help me Barbara, Oracle." She attempted to wrap her arms around his waist but he gently pushed her back.

She removed her glasses, they were starting to get foggy from her tears. "W-what do you mean missing?" Alfred was a second father to her, and he meant even more to Batman. Alfred has watched them grow from silly little children to the super heroes that they were today. As much as it pained her to admit it most days, she was no longer Batgirl but she was still someone important, she was Oracle. The one and only.

"Can you run _any_ sort of program?! Something...anything! I need to find him...before it's too late, if it isn't already." The panic in Batman's voice let her know this was beyond a simple missing butler. This was hell for Bruce and a nightmare for Barbara. "I'll go scan the city for _anything_ I might find to lead me to him." Before Barbara could say anything, suggest anything, he zipped his way out of her fortress hiding in plain sight; The Clocktower.

Since she couldn't fight her way through Gotham anymore, she built a hide away where she could be her own type of Super hero, without the mask. The Clocktower was home now. Here she was in complete solitude, yet still surrounded. Free from judgement, free from a strangers stare. This place made her feel useful again, made her feel powerful. Her computers, her games, all of her technology, it all actually helped people. _She_ helped people. But with every ounce of happiness and pride, came a pound of sorrow. Becoming Oracle came at a horrible, unwanted, frustrating, price.

When the sun finally set and she could see the full moon from the face of the clock, she wheeled into her bedroom and began to drown in the sorrow she was feeling. "Pull it together Barbara! You need to find Alfred!" After the many years of being Oracle it didn't take her too long to build a program that would look for DNA, finger prints, and even vocal patterns that matched Alfred's. The program had been scanning for about two hours as Barbara was lying in her bed drinking more than a one or two glasses of wine. There was a sudden alarm that startled her from a drunken haze. " _Alfred_!" She screamed as she bolted up and began to swing her legs off the bed, for a second forgetting that she couldn't walk. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration.

"Fuck..." She climbed into her wheelchair, with the famous Bat Family logo on the bigger wheels. Rolling as fast as she could push herself while being mildly drunk. "Show results." she slurred. She wasn't sure if she should be happy with what she found or worried, or both. There was a DNA match leading from Wayne manor to Arkham Asylum. She rubbed her temples. _Who could possibly want Alfred in Arkham Asylum?_ This had to be a trap, a very elaborate trap.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

(As tricks **(*) will be explained at end of chapter** )

She rolled over to her main computer set up. Her head was spinning from drinking one glass too many. Despite the late hour, Barbara was pretty sure that Bruce would still be awake pacing in the Bat cave or prowling the cities, interrogating a thug or two that might know. The latter was probably true. It took one ring from his phone to answer it.

"What have you found?" She understood that this was no time for pleasantries and he wasn't being rude, he was feeling scared. Telling Bruce word for word what the program had found but before she could warn him that it was probably a trap, he ended the call **.** _ **He's just worried, you would be too if it was your dad.**_

Finding Alfred was more important than anything Barbara had ever dealt with. Even being put in this wheelchair so many years ago, the possibility of losing Alfred hurt so much more. He was - is - everything to Bruce; a father, a friend, a guardian, a mentor, and a hero.

-Clock tower-

As the night progressed, there was no new information on Alfred. Before she realized the time, she noticed sun rays peaking through the the giant hands of the clock. She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She turned off her monitors, only leaving the B.U.T.L.R*. program running, setting it with an alarm to go off any time there was anything that could lead her and Bruce to Alfred. No matter how long it takes, she is determined to find him even if it kills her or drives her mad, which ever comes first. "I guess staring at six different monitors for 15 hours straight can be hell on the eyes, even when you're used to doing it for at least 10 hours every day." She put her glasses back on and rolled to her bedroom. Bruce and his use of the Wayne Foundation spared no expense when he created The Clocktower for her. After her accident caused by Joker landing a bullet through her spine, Bruce wanted to give Barbara a place to be safe, to be away from everyone else, and still be hidden in plain sight. She could see out, she could see the entire city, but no one could see her.

The Clocktower was so Batman'esque. A hidden button, when pushed, her bookcases disappeared and her computer set up rose from below the floor and a hidden side door was revealed where her apartment was. The only entrance into her fort of solitude of solitude was a hidden, voice activated, elevator and a chimney sized entrance on the roof that only Batman could get through. She rolled to the door that lead to her studio type apartment. "Maybe a shower will help me feel better..." as she shifted her weight in her chair, rubbing her lower back.

The bullet obviously didn't kill her, it just left her in a lot of pain, not just physically but emotionally and mentally. Some days were harder than others and today was one of the hard ones. She started the shower as she stripped and slid from her wheelchair to the shower chair. She let the warm water hit her back feeling it loosen up the muscles. She ran her fingers across her lower back and felt the raised red permanent scar going vertically up her back. A part of her wanted to cry and another part of her said to suck it up, at least she was still alive. Washing her legs was another reminder of what happened. They had become so thin. The only reason they had any muscle to them at all is the billionaire Bruce Wayne paid for the top physical therapist in Gotham. Drying off, she slid back into her chair and rolled to her bed. She sighed a little as she transferred from the wheelchair to her bed. Opening the bed side drawer, it was full of medications she was tired of taking but would probably feel even worse if they weren't taken. Of course every single one of them said "DO NOT DRINK ALCOHOL WITH THIS MEDICATION", a warning she ignored.

* = Basic United Team Recovery


	3. ANH CH3

Chapter 3

She picked up a small bottle of gin that she kept in the bottom drawer. She wasn't proud of this but it was the only thing that could help her sleep through her nightmares every other night and tonight would probably be worse. She took it light tonight just in case the alarm went off. Taking the last sip of the night, feeling like she was sinking into her bed, watching the ceiling fan spin around and around like the minute arm of the face of the clock. She began hearing the steady tic toc, becoming almost hypnotic.

She rolled to her side, becoming face to face with her reflection in the mirrored closet. As she was slipping in and out of sleep, her reflection morphed, like looking into a ripple in a pond. Her eyes turned from almond shaped green eyes into unnaturally wide and yellow, her hands were shifting into claws, the mouth twisted into a crooked smile. Her heart jumped and she sat up lightening fast. That wasn't her, not at all. Her eyes were darting around the room. No lights were on to cast shadows. Her doors were locked. There was...

Nothing.

She looked down. Her hands were indeed, her hands. Her face felt norrmal and her legs were still useless. She pulled her wheelchair closer to the bed and feeling groggy and drunk pushed over to her desk. Picking up her cell phone she thumbed over to "favorites" aand tapped on Tim's goofy picture. Aside from her father and Bruce, Tim was Barbara's everything, possibility even her one true love, if she believed in such a thing. The other line rang for what felt like forever, but his voice finally answered her late night call. "Barb, it's a little late for a booty call." Even at 3 AM, over the phone, he still got a smile out of her.

"I'd love to," she remarked "but I do need you right now." her voice fell silent. She didn't know how to follow up a sentence like that. Her voice began to quiver as she tried to form words. She wasn't sure what she saw but it was clear that it wasn't normal and it was frightening. "Can you come over?"

"Anything for you Barbgirl." she could hear him shuffling out of bed. "Is everything okay?" His voice still had that sleepy tone to it.

"Y-yeah...I mean, no, not really but it's not like my house is burning down or anything like that...just need to see a friendly face." She didn't really know how to say what she saw. She wasn't even sure of what she saw. "I'll see you soon."

The phone clicked and she breathed a sigh of relief. Even if it was just a dream, it shook her more than anything else ever has and she needed company after what she saw. Tim was the only person who could save her from herself. She didn't feel much like laying down even though the morphine and gin coursing through her system made her feel warm and like she was floating. She didn't bother transfering to the couch, she just stayed in her chair. Tim would be here soon. Twenty minutes into trying to figure out why her brain was dragging her into some sort of mild psychosis, there was a buzz on the intercom for her elevator. "Open up Babs."

She let the lift go down and when it got to the top and the doors slid open. She wrapped her arms around Tim without even saying hello. She hugged him tighter as her heart felt lighter now that the heros hero was here. Finally releasing him from her python grip, Tim came in and sat on the couch. Barbara sat on the couch next to him and placed her head on his shoulder as he pulled her closer and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Tim."

-Gordon-

Commissioner Gordon stood on the roof of the G.C.P.D. His vision became blurry from the rain hitting his glasses. Standing next to the spotlight that shown brightly across Gotham to say "Get here now. We need you, Batman." As he was turning the spotlight a little bit further north, his phone vibrated. "Hello?" He had to raise his voice over the rain that was pounding down, harder by the minute. He expected to see hail soon.

"Gordon, I'm sorry but I have something more important right now." Batman went straight to the point this time, with a tone of urgency.

"More important than helping an entire city from, what might become our next super villain?" Realizing he sounded selfish in that moment his stomach knotted for a second.

"Yes." There was no explanation or hesitation with his answer. The call ended without another word. Gordon put his phone back in his pocket and shut off the search light and the Batman signal faded into the night. Heading back into the station, hanging up his coat and hat to dry from the oncoming storm. He wasn't prepared for this.

The press was starting to demand an official statement from the Commissioner, there was no way around it. Everyone with a TV and a cable connection wanted answers to this villain that was causing havoc all throughout Gotham; "disturbing criminal in clown make up." Gordon knew damn well who they were asking about. Deep down, everyone knew who they were talking about. He didn't want to feed into the hysteria that was slowly building around him. The feeling of anger began to boil within him, feeling sick to his stomach and his heart breaking all over again. He had to figure out a way to answer the questions that Gotham was starting to ask. The police force wasn't sure what they were going to do without Batman at their side. A million thoughts began racing, and were scrapped before he could think of a new one.

What could be more important to a super hero than saving the city that needed him from a super villain?

As he was heading back inside he could hear the muffled questioning of the rumor mill, buzzing between journalists. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to calm his brain. These people were worse than vultures, they pecked at every word he said, questioned every official statement he or the department gave. Whatever happened, it was a lose – lose situation. If he told the truth, that Batman was too busy for his city, they would accuse him of being selfish and useless, if he said that Batman was looking to shutting down this criminal and his gang, they would accuse him of being a vigilante and should be punished for taking the law into his own hands. He wiped off his glasses with the end of his shirt and shed his jacket that was now soaked.

 _I should invest in a rain breaker_

Jim opened the door that lead to the conference room. As he stepped up to the podium, the flashes of the hundreds of cameras was starting to give him a strange headache. He had several incidents like this, every time someone went missing or something like that, he was used to the cameras at this point but this headache was different. His palms felt clammy and his mouth felt like the Sahara. He could feel the words trying to come out but it felt more like they were stuck in his throat and he couldn't make a sound aside from "uhm's and I's". It sounded like he had a stutter that he never got rid of.

"B-Ba-Batman can—cannot assist us tonight in—in our search of-" he began to feel the world spinning. "of the criminal known as – the – the Joker." His heart began to pound in his chest, almost like a cartoon character when their heart bumps out of their chest like a spring. "We have a l—lead on his whereabouts and infor-" he saw the world go black and felt his body hit the floor. He could hear the sound of people screaming for someone to call for help, but they sounded so muffled that he couldn't make out the rest.

The next thing he knew, he could feel the prick of a needle making its way into his vein and an EMT telling him to calm down. His eyes fluttered open and his gray hair was soaking wet from sweat. "Commissioner, looks like you just had a really bad panic attack. Due to your umm...age...it effected your heart more than it normally would."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Don't tell Barbara."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

-Clocktower-

Tim leaned in and brushed wild strands of hair away from Barbara's face. "What's goin' on Babs?" She could feel her eyes starting to get heavy from the cocktail of pain medication and alcohol. He looked down at her as he felt her lean into him harder, feeling more of her weight. He sighed.

"I don't know what to do anymore." She was slurring her words and he felt her flesh get warmer on his shoulder. She brought her covers up to her face and wiped away the tears that were starting to form.

 _Superhero's don't cry_

Tim lifted her head off of his shoulder and placed it into his hands. Her eyes were welling up still, and avoiding his like making eye contact was too painful for her. He knew she felt shame. When she was the famous Batgirl life wasn't exactly easy, but it was easier than this. "Everything is going to be okay Barbara, you and I will get through this together. We always do."

Tim only called her Barbara when it was important, or it meant something serious. This made her finally look at him, his blue eyes looked like they were searching for something within her; something buried away that no one else knew. She leaned in to kiss him, as he placed one hand on her face and the other around her waist. This is what she needed, not alcohol, not medication, she needed human connection, a meaningful, loving connection.

He pulled her in a little closer, as she pressed her chest closer to his. There was no mistaking his want for her, but he slowly broke away from her, his hands still around her waist. "Barb, you're wasted. We shouldn't do this...at least not now." Barbara's hands fell to her sides, tilting her head down, resting her forehead against his. She let out a little huff, and silently nodded in agreement. "Let's get to bed. I'll stay here tonight, I don't go out on the weekends anyways."

"You don't have to Tim, I can -"

"I know I don't have to Babs, I want to." He stood and picked her up bridal style and carried her to bed. Noticing the sheets were already a mess, he pulled them back a bit more and laid Barbara on the bed and as her eyes were getting harder and harder to stay awake, he pulled the covers over her and kissed her on the cheek. "Good night Barbara. I'll be here." She mumbled her best attempt at 'good night' as she could.

Morning rolled around, as Barbara opened her eyes, her head felt like there was a vice around it, tightening more and more by the minute. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the blankets up to cover her face and groaned. With her eyes still shut she stretched out her arm, grasping around for her wheelchair. Unable to feel it, she gave another groan and opened her eyes one at a time and realized it wasn't there. "What the..." then it hit. She turned her head to the side and saw Tim sleeping on his stomach. Her wheelchair was probably in the living room from last night. Her head was still spinning and she was starting to feel the familiar feeling of nausea. She shook Tim, there was no way she was crawling to the bathroom to puke.

His head popped up with a "huh?" before realizing where he was. He rubbed the top of his head. "Wassup?" His voice still sleepy.

"I need my chair, feeling pukey." She had never seen Tim move so fast, out of Superhero mode anyway. He pushed her wheelchair to the side of the bed. She slid in with one fluid motion and rushed to the bathroom, and not a moment to soon. Last night alcohol's didn't agree with her this morning. She began to brush her teeth after that, no one likes morning-hang-over breath. "Sorry..." she said to Tim as he was sitting on the bed, trying to comb out his hair with his fingers, His eyes still looked sleepy. "You can go back to sleep if you want, Timmy."

"You know I hate it when you call me that." He fell back onto the bed. "Come back to bed with me Barbgirl."


End file.
